


Human

by orphan_account



Category: Dragon Ball Z
Genre: Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Self-Reflection
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-07-20
Updated: 2015-07-20
Packaged: 2018-04-10 05:58:30
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,477
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4379894
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Krillin finds a quite spot to often reflect on his life after the Cell Games.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Human

**Author's Note:**

  * For [IWalkInAir](https://archiveofourown.org/users/IWalkInAir/gifts).



> For my besty: IWalkInAir! <3

He's made more than his fair share of questionable decisions in his lives (yes multiple) than he'd like to acknowledge. Yet, he supposed now was as good as ever to think about all his faults; to really address them.

Krillin felt tired and more tired nowadays, and honestly, he believed that's how it is should be by now. He's been going and going with his childhood friend for a good many years, and as he is only human (and Goku is not) he can't keep up with him anymore. Super Saiyans.... teh!

Krillin was on an evening walk. The sun faded slowly into the shadows of the trees and the first stars were beginning to peek out of their comfort zones in a darker setting. Having seen to it that the forest path he followed was well distanced from civilization, and Saiyan households alike, Krillin could once again enjoy the solitude of being alone. He could actually breathe out here without some world crisis breathing down his neck... or breaking his neck.

The quiet sounds of crickets and settling critters created a comfortable white noise Krillin appreciated. The sounds of nature helped the process of thinking and moved him onward, one step at a time. The small man had walked this dirt path many times and sought a familiar clearing of soft grasses to sit on and think the rest of his day away. All it took was twenty minutes of winding trail and one stubbed foot and Krillin was lying back in his removed sanctuary, contentedly relaxing against a small hill naturally set in the middle east of his clearing.

Krillin stared up, past the tree tops, at the sky and waited for the light pastels to darken into the usual, speckled night that comes with the revolutions of the earth. Earth, his planet. The round, ‘Can't stay out of the radar of assorted killer lifeforms’, rock he lived on. Earth. Funny how one can repeat a word over and over and soon it starts to sound alien and out of place- like: which idiot named our planet "earth"? How'd they figure that was the word to call a whole world of others who might want a say in the naming of their planet? Was it even worth wondering about? Maybe it was a good thought, but because it came from HIS bald head it held no significance whatsoever. 

Krillin laughed, a mirthless depreciation of himself. If that were true he'd never really know anyhow. 

A star, brighter than the rest and a slight tinge of green, caught his eye. Maybe New Namek was up there within his sights. Dende said it was located in a remote area of space, so much farther away from where Old Namek had been that not a soul (short of a kai) could find it.

Namek... He wasn't much help there either, was he? Krillin ignored his wet cheeks, staring down at his worn hands. He clenched them, then slowly straightened the blunt digits back out, observing each wrinkle and vein as they stretched over the bone. The action brought a faint ache to the tendons leading to his elbow and further up. How much use were these instruments when they couldn't spring back like the other Z fighters who actually did things crucial to the continued safety of everyone and everything worth saving? Useless human hands. Maybe if Krillin was not... could just stop being... wasn't HIM, Namek could still be and a lot more of its inhabitants alive.

Hands in white knuckled fists now, Krillin let his plain, simple eyes burn and his not-so-broad shoulders shudder in time with his shallow breathing. He felt it was childish and whimsical to an outsider's stand point, but Krillin sometimes indulged in momentary spans of raw, helpless emotion. He is nothing if not a sensitive, worrying monk and there was no place nor time better than now. He tried, but really, there is no graceful way, to lower himself on his side, facing no one. Instead he ended up in an undignified fetal ball, tremors of worthlessness and inadequacy shaking his small form. The negative thoughts were coming and going so fast he didn't attempt to sort them out.

How many times had he stood frozen with terror as someone hurt his loved ones?

How many of those stupid destruction disks had he thrown only to miss?

When was the last time Goku had the chance (want) to speak with him about anything unrelated to fighting for more than three minutes?

He wondered how Android 18 was getting on. Other than making that wish and praying persistently that she'd fair alright, Krillin hadn't the courage to seek her out. And she... well, he is pathetic. He understands..

What good was all his training and struggling when he amounted to a slightly bothersome pest, easily dispatched with the flick of an almighty finger?

How many times could he die? Is there a limit, or do you die three times and get one free respawning later?

Oh, god, it hurts when he dies.... the worst was Frieza. Being impaled on those horns. The white hot pain of that ivory spike breaking past the thin skin of his belly and forcing its way through his guts to rip through his back out the other side. It didn't stop there, no. Then gravity and wicked mirth forced him down and up. Over and over until his own gore slicked the way for Frieza to split him again and again. His friends watched, much like he did when they were in peril. Cosmic payback he guessed....

He didn't have a home, a family; not a single thing to his name…

He'd just barely moved out of Kame House and set about building his own. Past thirty years of age and he was still in and out of shitty entry level jobs and death fights for the world...

He wondered how Android 18 was getting on. Other than making that wish and praying persistently that she'd fair alright, Krillin hadn't the courage to seek her out. And she... well, he is pathetic. He understands.. 

Krillin had done so much of living for others, and accomplishing nothing...

"Stop."

The sobbing man choked on his sorrow at that one word, forcing himself to look up at a dark figure.

"Whatever this is, stop it. Please."

Krillin was doing his best, but hiccups stop for no man no matter how long he holds his breath (if he can do that even).

“Hey, I said knock it off!”

That wasn’t really helping. He cried harder.

“Krillin, so help me-”

Krillin glared through blurry wetness at the intruder of his solitude. What, he can’t even have this? They expected him to smile and wave at those ridiculous get together’s Bulma throws to remind them all that they know each other. They don’t give him the option of backing out, especially if he says he has other, more imperative obligations…

All the pointless favors they ask of him…. 

Nights of mindlessly babysitting when he should be at a job…

Asking a lot, but never asking for his best because… because their expectations are low…

How can he do all that if they won’t let him this release? However sad it was, Krillin counted on these walks and tearful breakdowns to keep face every day. So, Kami, why?!

The taller of the two inhaled sharply, “Oh, my friend...”

Krillin cringed and turned his face down to the earth, away from the understanding in Piccolo’s gaze. The namekian was quite as he sighed and lowered himself to sit beside Krillin’s shaking form. The monk tried to shrink further in on himself when a firm hand suddenly rested on his upturned shoulder.

“Don’t think like that, Krillin. It’s not true.”

Before he could stuff a fist in his mouth to stifle his desperate wish for those words to be true, the small man was swiftly lifted and manhandled out of his ball of misery into a reclined position in the middle of Piccolo’s lap. 

Krillin couldn’t help the way he was broken, “B-but I- I- c-can’t.”

Silence from the big man followed. And then he was hugged gently to Piccolo’s broad chest. Steady fingers traced nonsense patterns along Krillin’s back, the comfort of his friend’s uncharacteristic concern warming him through his faded orange gi. 

“W-wh-why-?” trembling hands wrapped themselves in purple fabric as he not so much as demanded as begged to know.

The answer was soft and low, “If I can do it, Krillin, you can do it. This world’s not so big and you’re not so small.”

And he wasn’t. He really wasn’t. It would take time for him to believe it, but as Piccolo seemed so determined that he mattered, Krillin would just have to borrow from his belief until that day came.

**Author's Note:**

> Everyone is loved. And if you aren't feeling it, get out there and find the one's that care. They exist.


End file.
